


Everything You Are

by katnissdoesnotfollowback (lost_on_cloud_9)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, James Bond (Movies), The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_on_cloud_9/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen, Licensed to Kill, has spent almost a decade trying to bring down the villainous Coriolanus Snow. But when she’s assigned a new field partner, she starts to question if it’s been worth everything she’s given. </p><p>Written for the everlarkianarchives Movies in the Month of May, inspired by the James Bond film franchise. Contains minor character deaths, action sequences, violence, bad puns, and outrageous flirtations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

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_If you take a life, do you know what you'll give?_  
_Odds are, you won't like what it is._  
_When the storm arrives, would you be seen with me?_  
_By the merciless eyes I've deceived._

**- _You Know My Name,_ Chris Cornell  
Theme Song to _Casino Royale_ (2006)**

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

 

Her eyes narrow as she surveys the scene, drawing her gun. It’s gruesome, to be sure, but she keeps her mind focused on the end goal. Somewhere in this mess is the information she needs. If only she’d arrived a few minutes earlier…She couldn’t even blame her tardiness on the new partner that HQ seemed determined to foist on her. This time it was the local authorities causing problems.

“We’re too late. Someone beat us to it,” Katniss says softly. Just loud enough for the mic clipped over her ear to pick up.

“Kurdu?” The voice of her new associate whispers over the earpiece.

Katniss’s eyes sweep over the faces, searching for the one belonging to their latest contact.

“Dead,” Katniss says when she finally spots Lavinia Kurdu slumped in a chair. Two to the chest, one to the head. Katniss steps over the spiky haired woman lying on the ground in her own blood, who she thinks the intel named as Venia. Katniss quickly searches her pockets and then Lavinia’s. Nothing. The informants would have kept any vital information worth trading for asylum on their persons; Katniss is certain of that.

This brutal quadruple homicide reeks of one person… “He’s sending us a message,” she whispers.

At the slight creak from the adjoining room, Katniss raises her gun once more and steps on silent toes to the doorway. She has to contort her hips to avoid contact with one of the seated victims. No doubt the police would be arriving soon. Even if the assassin used a silencer, the neighbours would notice the coppery tang of blood and the stench of death in a matter of minutes with the summer heat, if they hadn’t already.

Peering around the door frame, she catches a brief glimpse of dark blue linen shirt disappearing out the window.

“Shit,” she mutters softly.

“What is it, Jay?” the voice in her ear asks.

“Shooter’s running. Bring the car,” she turns and makes her way back out of the flat, holstering her gun before dashing down the hall and leaping out the open window onto the fire escape. A quick scan shows her partner approaching in their vehicle from the north while her target hops on a motorcycle and heads to the south. The target guns the engine as she grasps the fire escape ladder and clings to it while her weight drops it to the ground with loud clanks.

Her booted feet solidly on the ground, Katniss only has to wait a heartbeat for the car to pause at the curb. The door opens from inside. She jumps in as her partner sits back upright. Slamming the door, Katniss gives him a perfunctory nod and he jerks the car back onto the road.

“The black motorbike,” she barks, waving after their target.

“I saw him,” her partner says tersely, and she has to grip the handle over the door as he accelerates, weaving deftly through the traffic to catch up with the fleeing man.

“Don’t be too obvious,” Katniss admonishes, ignoring the thinning of her new partner’s lips at her words. She hates to admit that he’s a good driver.

“There,” he cranes his neck to follow the man in the thickening crush of cars. “He’s going down that alley. It’s too narrow for the car.”

“I’ve got it,” Katniss says, stepping from the still moving car as her partner slows next to the curb. She casually makes her way towards a row of motorcycles parked along the curb. Spotting one with keys left carelessly in the ignition, she smiles a little to herself. She always did prefer feeling the wind in her hair as she drove.

Climbing on the motorbike, she sets off after their target. The assassin still moves at a leisurely pace, which means he hasn’t yet noticed that he’s being followed.

“I’ll make my way around the block,” her partner says in her ear. These new earpieces are damned annoying. She prefers working alone, but if she has to deal with a partner, she wants one who knows her every move without being told. It’s been a long time since she’s had one of those. At least this one seems to be learning quickly.

The rumble of the motorcycles echoes off the stone walls of the buildings lining the alleys. Katniss watches as an old woman stumbles out of the path of the assassin, her basket of groceries spilling to the ground. As Katniss swerves to avoid the mess he’s made, he turns in his seat. Katniss is not fast enough in diverting her attention, and without warning, he twists the accelerator and shoots down the alley at a blazing pace. Bending low over the handles, she accelerates rapidly to follow.

“Where are you?” her partner’s voice asks.

“Not now, Lark,” she bites out and nearly rolls her eyes at his exasperated sigh.

“I’ll take that to mean he’s seen you then.”

She doesn’t have time to drag along a partner. Squinting against the sun, she leans to turn the bike as it shoots from the alley. Katniss spots her target getting mired in traffic once more. Good.

For a second, she loses sight of him as she ducks around a delivery truck. But she still hears the screech of tires and the metallic crash followed by a flurry of cursing and ranting in Romanian. When she finally has a clear view, she bites her lip to keep from growling.

He’d done the right thing, her partner, cutting across the lanes and knocking the assassin off the bike, but he did it too soon, giving the man time to flee on foot before she got there.

Katniss jerks the handlebars to pursue the man as he sprints down the sidewalk, aggravated that her partner has gotten himself entangled in a fender bender. Lark is useless to her now.

The man keeps looking back over his shoulder as she gains on him. She dispenses with pretense and keeps her eyes locked on him. He stumbles and regains his footing before cutting left down an alleyway.

“Status,” M’s voice grumbles in her ear and she bites back a retort. The worst part of the earpieces. Sometimes, headquarters decides to butt in where they have no business doing so.

“Shooter is on the move, Jay in pursuit,” Lark says in clipped tones, although she thinks she catches the sound of an engine humming. Is he still driving? How’d he get out of that mess so quickly? She makes a mental note to re-evaluate this new partner of hers.

She has no time to think on it as her target drops and slides through an open window into a basement. She quickly ditches the bike and follows. Her feet hit the floor and she takes off running after him, down the aisle as workers in grey coveralls jump back, no doubt startled to see them here. The whirring of the machines and a dust that nearly makes her choke fills the air.

“Status,” M demands again.

“We’ll report in when there’s something to report,” her partner states succinctly and Katniss’ lips twitch a little. Perhaps this one won’t be so bad.

She swerves right as the man grabs a pile of crates, knocking them to block her path. Ignoring the shouts of the workers, Katniss darts between two machines to avoid the mess and boosts her speed as she tries to gain on the man, despite the lengthening of her path.

He races up a metal stairway and she follows, through a brief series of offices and back out into the sun. To her left, she hears the squeal of tires and the hum of a familiar engine that is echoed in her earpiece.

“I’ve got you in sight,” Lark says as Katniss races across the street, hell bent on catching this man. Her legs are beginning to ache and her lungs to burn, but she’ll never hear the end of it if this target gets away.

To her dismay, the target races over a bridge and leaps over the railing onto the roof of a passing cruise boat moving at a rapid clip. He rolls and disappears below deck as she braces one hand on the railing to follow.

“Damn it! How am I supposed to follow you now?”

“Keep to the road along the river,” she snaps, her voice strained as she rolls, her ankle turns with the impact on the boat’s deck.

She stands, straightens her shirt and smooths down her hair before making her way into the passenger areas, where the assassin disappeared. Katniss spots him across the luxurious dining chamber, sitting casually at the bar, acting as though he’s ordering a drink, except that he’s sweating profusely and bouncing his foot nervously.

Weaving unobtrusively towards her target, she tries to ignore the static and chatter in her ear as M badgers Lark for an update. When she’s less than fifteen meters away, the assassin’s eyes dart up and meet hers in the mirror briefly before he turns, brandishing a gun.

Katniss dives under a table as the shots ring out and passengers scream, scrambling for the exits. In the chaos, she manages to get off her own shot, hitting his right leg. He yells and holds onto the bar for support. Katniss closes the distance and grabs him, slamming his head against the bar. She slams his wrist down as well, forcing him to drop his gun behind the bar. He bucks back against her, smacking her face with the back of his head. While she’s recovering, he comes up with a bottle, smashing it on the edge of the bar. She deflects his swing, lands one good hit to his left ear and drops, sweeping his feet out from under him. He hits the floor, rolls away and struggles to his feet when someone grabs her from behind, lifting her from the ground and shouting in Romanian. The assassin makes a break for it while Katniss struggles with the intruder, kicking off the bar to gain momentum then swinging her feet down and flipping the security guard over her head. He hits the mirror and slides unconscious to the floor, taking a shower of glass with him.

“By all means, take a break,” she mumbles and heads after her target.

As soon as she opens the door leading back on deck, he’s there, landing a sharp blow to her kidneys. Katniss falls to her knees with a grunt and twists away, avoiding his next swing, his fist holding a shard of broken bottle. With a sneer, Katniss rises to her feet, blocking his punches and deflecting his hands to the side, narrowly avoiding slices to her arms and face. She ducks and chops at his leg wound. The blow throws off his balance enough for her to land a hit to his nose and one to his gut. Sweat drips down her temples as she grapples with the target. She needs to get the upper hand soon or this will end badly.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to hit a lady?” she quips, distracting him long enough to knee him in the groin. As he falls, he grips her leg, taking her tumbling to the deck with him and she rolls to avoid a downswing with the broken glass. The assassin grabs her shirt and hovers over her, teeth gnashing, pinning her arms with his knees. When he raises his arm, the glass glints in the sunlight and she brings her knee up into his groin repeatedly. He grunts with her hits and lets go, scrambling away, hunched over as she stands and follows.

Katniss dodges a blow with the broken bottle, his secondary swing with his fist lands on her shoulder and she grunts at the impact then side steps to give herself more room to maneuver. Instead of rejoining the fight, the assassin climbs up to the roof. She makes to follow as the boat passes beneath another bridge, cloaking her in shadows. Katniss reaches the roof in time to watch him jump, grabbing the supports under the bridge and pulling himself up.

“Lark, where are you? He’s disembarking under this bridge.”

“I see him,” Lark answers.

She jumps, grabbing the supports and straining to lift herself enough to wrap a leg around the metal under structure. With a heave, she’s up and shifts to stand, seeking her target when a flash of green glass appears out of the corner of her eye and fire lances down her left side, right above her waist.

She cries out with it, dropping back to cling to the support, straddling it on her stomach. Her ear fills with more chatter while the target slinks away and she works to maintain her grip.

“What the hell is going on?” M’s gruff voice barks.

“Jay?” the frantic voice of her partner asks. “Target is fleeing on foot. Where are you?”

“Under the bridge still,” she bites out, the pain and physical effort evident in her voice.

“Go get the bastard,” the order comes across the line.

“JUST ONE DAMN MINUTE!” Lark bellows, and she hears the scream of an engine stressed to the limits in both her ears as she shakes her head to clear the fogginess that comes with pain. “I’m not leaving Jay!”

She squeezes her eyes against the agony and, shaking, pulls herself to her feet, fighting the dizziness swamping her. Her hand automatically covers the wound, warm sticky blood oozing between her fingers. The hand still gripping the supports slips and she loses her footing just as the cruise ship clears the bridge. Katniss drops, barely having enough foresight to twist and hit the water feet first. Plunging into the tepid depths, she clamps her mouth shut and kicks against the wake of the boat.

The current carries her and as she surfaces, she angles her body, kicking towards the banks. Stone walls line the river and she lets the current drag her, only using energy to maintain wits and direction. As she nears the next bridge, she hears the squeal of tires as a car halts. She reaches the stone abutment and grasps for a handhold as footsteps scrape on stone. Strong hands grip her beneath her arms and drag her from the rushing waters. Her feet scrabble for purchase on the stone and she lets out a soft groan when her bleeding side hits the hard surface. Lark curses under his breath as he finally lifts her free and gently lays her on the ground to examine her.

“Target is shot. I hit him in the shoulder as he fled, but he managed to wound Jay first. I’ve got her now. Shut up so I can think,” he says and Jay realizes that her earpiece is missing. Must have been swept away by the current. She reaches up and yanks Lark’s from his ear, flinging it into the river.

“There. That should shut them up,” she says and grimaces at the pain in her side.

Lark laughs and scoops her into his arms, sprinting up the narrow staircase to the car and trying not to jostle her too much.

“See which way he went?” she asks and Lark answers with a shake of his head. “Damn. The old man’s not going to be happy. You should have gone after him instead.”

Lark lays her in the back seat and pulls a medical kit out from under the passenger seat. “You would have done the same for me,” he says tersely. She’s not sure that she would have, though. “Here. Get started on that. I’ll finish once we get to the safe house.”

Katniss cleans the wound enough to get it under a temporary bandage, although she will probably need to have Lark stitch her up when they get there. It isn’t deep, but it is jagged and about fifteen centimeters long. Her gaze lands on the sniper rifle discarded on the back floorboards and suddenly wonders how steady Lark’s hands are. Her vision is going fuzzy, but she notices enough to see that he at least takes a winding route and checks behind them several times.

“Almost there, Jay,” he says, turning his head to look at her, worry evident in his blue eyes.

Then a massive crashing noise resounds as the car jerks to the left, spinning precariously on the wheel edges. She grits her teeth as she’s thrown against the door, hitting her head on the window. Lark curses, jerking the wheel into the spin to keep the car from rolling. Katniss feels as though she’s going to vomit and can’t stop staring at the crushed-in passenger door right in front of her, where she would have been if she hadn’t been stabbed, although she’s seeing spots and the edges of her vision is going black. As the car comes to a halt, she’s thrown back onto the seat and her grip on consciousness finally slips.

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

Sound returns first. Hollow echoes and muffled speech. Her left side is throbbing. Her head is pounding. Her arms feel stretched and her chest constricted. A sharp smell stings her nostrils and she jolts upright, her eyes flying open and her body screaming in protest. A dark haired man with a scar running down his left cheek stares into her face and she scowls at him. He nods.

_Lark. Where is Lark?_

“She’s awake,” the dark haired man says with a thick Panem accent and stands upright.

“Very good, Thread. One moment. I have an important call to make before we begin our little show,” a second man’s voice, this one familiar, sounds over some sort of PA system in the chamber. Thread walks a short distance away from her, revealing the rest of the room she’s in.

Rectangle. Two air vents about six meters off the floor. A large tempered glass window dominates the wall in front of her a little to her left. Through it, she can see several men in expensive suits, lounging and conversing. Four doors exit the room she’s in, two beneath the viewing window that appear to lead down. One on each of the adjoining walls. She cranes her neck to examine the fourth wall and finds what appears to be a large terrarium, filled with massive lizards. She’s tied standing up to some kind of metal post in the center of the room, the ropes lashed across her chest, her hands bound behind her. She twists her wrists to test those bonds, her fingers brush against fabric.

“Good to see you’re awake, Jay,” Lark says softly behind her and shifts, moving the ropes tied around their torsos.

Relieved, she focuses on the feel of his movements through the ropes. He rolls his shoulders, showing her the slack in those bonds, then the sound of his boots on the grated floor. His ankles aren’t tied. Neither are hers. Katniss reaches with her hands and finds only fabric. Lark yawns loudly…does that mean his hands are in front and he’s already gotten them free? She’s hoping so and rolls her feet, stretching her leg muscles to work the stiffness out of them. She once more tests the ropes binding her own hands behind her back and finds them not impossible to escape, although not exactly easy either. Especially not while being watched.

“Thank you, Thread. Please see to our guests’ arrangements while I have a word with them,” the smooth voice from earlier announces and Thread marches from the room, the door slamming behind him. “Ms. Everdeen. The honor, my dear, is mine.”

Katniss watches one of the men separate himself from the group. Coriolanus Snow turns to stand in the middle of the window. White hair combed back, narrow dark eyes, and a white rose pinned to the lapel of his charcoal grey suit.

“President Snow, allow me to offer my congratulations on your _election_ ,” she sneers on the last word and his lips tick, his eyebrow lifts just a touch. “And might I say, it’s a wonder you haven’t started more wars amongst your neighbors if this is how you treat your honored guests.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Ms. Everdeen, I believe we will make this go much smoother if we agree not to lie to one another.”

She shrugs. “Then forgive me if I choose not to answer.”

Again Snow laughs, although the sound is anything but merry. Sinister is the word she’d pick.

“Lovely young man you have for an associate there. I don’t believe I know this agent yet.”

“He’s just here on a lark,” Katniss answers and Snow grins.

“A Lark and a Jay. How quaint. Now my dear, if you will be so kind as to tell me what you learned from my former employees before you shot them and where you dumped any information they provided you. I am curious to know exactly what level of betrayal I am facing.”

Questions and scenarios race through Katniss’ head. Is he hinting that he didn’t have Lavinia and her three associates killed? Behind her, Lark shifts and she tugs on whatever fabric is within her reach, probably his shirt, to get him to keep quiet about the assassin they chased, to not reveal anything so Snow keeps talking.

“I’m afraid we didn’t get done with the pleasantries before things turned ugly,” Katniss says.

“Oh Ms. Everdeen,” Snow shakes his head like a parent disappointed with a child. “I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”

“Well if you expect us to talk,” Lark says, “you ought to give us a reason to do so.”

“Beyond the fact that we’re your captive audience,” Katniss adds with a faux whine. She leans against Lark’s right shoulder and braces her body against his to conceal her hands as they twist and work the ropes loose. Whoever did this was either in a hurry or incompetent. She rocks and winces in exaggerated pain to further conceal her actions.

“Very well, then. No harm since you’ll be dead in less than an hour. We have time before Thread returns and I do love a captive audience.

“You congratulate me on my election to the post of President of Panem, Ms. Everdeen. I must congratulate you on almost making it impossible for your government as well as those of several other important international players to recognize my reign. Almost,” he says with a gleeful smile. “It’s been several years in the making, as I am sure you are aware, destabilizing Panem and building my own holdings, making Snow Industries the sole stable form of employment in the country and therefore myself as the only viable option to lead the people of Panem.”

Katniss bites her tongue and continues to work at the ropes, keeping an expression of acute pain on her face. She’s well aware of his activities. The murders and back door, illegal deals. Hasn’t she been trying to stop him for a little over half a decade?

Coriolanus Snow had seized control of the small nation of Panem following a period of turmoil and a military coup, powered by the weapons development branch of his company. He’d unofficially been in power for decades now and many world leaders were willing to turn the other cheek and ignore his more questionable activities such as selling to terrorist groups, since direct evidence of Snow’s involvement was virtually impossible to obtain. The media branch of his corporation muddied the waters, giving everything he did a brilliant propaganda spin, in all twelve of the countries he currently had broadcasting rights, that was hard to debunk without direct evidence. There was also the matter of his company being a leading exporter of pharmaceuticals that were demanded globally, known for their impeccable quality. No one wanted to take out the person who seemed on the verge of curing AIDS and cancer. The recent election in Panem had sealed his claim to power. Although a few groups still cried foul and corruption, it was dangerous to do so. Snow’s dissenters had a nasty habit of turning up dead.

“Yes, yes,” Lark moans when Snow is done with his liturgy. “But what have you done for us lately?” Katniss has to suppress a smile. Poking at Snow’s ego this way may either be incredibly stupid, or incredibly brilliant.

Snow narrows his eyes at Lark and his smile falters. “Snow Industries is looking to expand beyond the borders of Panem, and will take the country right along with it to great heights. Several of our neighbors are sitting on very fertile land, and I would hate to see it go to waste under the rule of such careless and uninspired leaders.”

“Oh excellent,” Lark says, seemingly appeased. “Conquer the neighbors first and then I suppose it’s on to world domination. Because that always works…”

Snow clears his throat and several of the suits bend their heads together, whispering madly. Snow turns and the PA system cuts off with a burst of static. The ropes pull tight on her torso as Lark seems to be bending. She ducks her head and catches a flash of metal sliding from his left boot before his foot drops back to the floor. He tucks it up in his wrist bonds. Katniss smiles and goes back to working on her own bonds.

“Never mind that, never mind that,” Snow’s impatient voice comes back online. “Thread!”

One of the doors below the viewing area opens and Thread enters with a pair of henchmen pushing a control cart loaded with several syringes and a pair of goggles connected to the cart via wires. She’s out of time to get her hands free.

“Honored guests, you have the privilege of being among the first human test subjects for my latest tool. A nerve agent, designed to trigger fear in your brain, right down to mimicking the physiologic response. The goggles will provide you both with personalized images designed to heighten that fear response and something with which to associate it.”

“And your plan for this?” Katniss asks as Lark leans forward, pulling her tighter against the pole. She follows the motion to giver herself leverage and bends her knees slightly, preparing for their one shot at escape. “To disperse it amongst the populace of your neighbors and destabilize their countries? Make it easier for you to march in and take over?”

“Precisely,” Snow smiles. “You two will receive a concentrated dose. First, I will drive you out of your minds with fear. Then I think we’ll dump you in with my collection of monitor lizards and see how you fare. The whole thing should prove educational as well as entertaining for my most generous investors.”

Snow’s henchmen approach with the goggles and Thread fiddles with the controls, his back to them. Katniss kicks her feet up, leaning back against the pole and Lark. She wraps her feet around the man’s neck and rocks her hips and legs then flings him to the side. Behind her, she hears a grunt and then the ropes pull again. There’s the sound of a body falling to the floor and then a series of sharp tugs on the ropes before they fall to the ground. Snow shouts in alarm and Thread turns to take in the scene. He runs towards her as the first henchman regains his feet.

Katniss kicks Thread’s knee, then his face as he goes down and Lark saws through the ropes on her wrists. As soon as she’s free, Lark turns to engage the henchman who’s regained his feet while she pins Thread to the ground and smashes his head into the floor for good measure. The henchman taken care of, Lark grabs the control cart and she pulls Thread’s gun from its holster. Armed guards run in through the door and Lark shoves the cart at them, knocking the first few back into the rest of the group. Katniss takes aim and shoots two more. Racing for the side door, Lark goes through first and leads them down a zig-zagged set of metal stairs that overlooks a wide warehouse, lined with loaded pallets.

“Where the hell are we?” she asks.

“Mountains of Panem. Snow Industries’ primary location. Other than that…no idea!”

They reach a landing and she tears a fire escape plan from the wall. “Then let’s hope he actually gives a damn about employee safety.”

There’s shouting and the ring of boots on metal stairs below them. She checks the floor number on the wall against the fire escape plan and shouts at Lark to take the next door. He tries the handle and turns back to her, shaking his head.

“Locked.”

She eyes the thing. Steel or some other metal. She doubts Lark can kick it in and she knows she can’t. The boots are getting closer below them and more now approach from above.

“Sixth floor,” Lark says as he smashes the glass cover over a fire hose and pulls to unravel a few meters before wrapping it once around the railing. He flings the nozzle over his left shoulder and tugs, leaving it draped across his chest with roughly a meter hanging behind him. “Think this’ll be long enough for some improvised rappelling?”

“Maybe,” she tells him. Katniss fires into the group of approaching guards as they come into view. They retreat and in the confusion, Lark grabs her around the waist, pulling her tight against his torso, lifting the hose over her head to cross her chest diagonally and then around their waists.

She fires off a few rounds at the regrouped guards as Lark steps back, pulling her strapped to him so the hose comes up between their legs. He snatches it up in his left hand, holding it in front of them, his other hand reaching behind him to secure the free end.

“Shoot straight,” he teases her and throws them back over the railing.

Gunshots and shouts ring out as they plummet. Floors flash by and she shoots at anything moving on the stairs. She watches the ceiling grow more distant and hears several grunts and screams. Lark’s feet push them off a lower level railing. Then a jolt as the hose runs out and their bodies lift with the recoil. His left hand releases the hose to hold her to him as they flip feet over head. They twist and the hose unravels around them. Lark yells in pain as they drop again, pulling the hose taut. Katniss slips in his grip and when their feet point down, he releases her to drop three meters to the floor. The impact rattles her teeth, but she keeps her footing.

She looks up to find Lark still grasping the hose with his right hand, arm caught at an odd angle, his face contorted in pain as bullets rain down on them. Katniss steps aside and fires up at their assailants to cover him, hitting a few as Lark let’s go and falls to the ground. Slowly, he gets to his feet. She fires off her last bullets and they run for it, Lark cradling his right arm in his left hand.

They duck between loaded pallets and race towards a bank of rolling garage doors. Sensing movement on the other side of the pallets, Katniss clambers up one, leaping to land sitting on the guard’s shoulders, her momentum sending him crashing backwards into the ground, his head smacking dully on the concrete. She tears his rifle from his hands, the pistol from his belt and keeps running, calling for Lark.

He turns down the next break in pallets and joins her, they pause long enough for her to remove the strap from the rifle and she uses it to bend and bind Lark’s injured arm to his chest, freeing his left hand. His shoulder is probably dislocated. They’ll deal with that later, along with the gash in her side that probably needs stitches and new bandages, but she can’t feel right it now with all the adrenaline pumping through her.

Lark pulls his knife from his boot again, keeping it blade down in his fist. She points towards the garage doors, indicating that’s their exit, and he nods. They stand and creep behind the pallets, listening to the boots of Snow’s men pounding on the concrete floor, their shouts echoing off the walls.

Bullets ricochet off the wall as a few find them. Lark goes in swinging one-handed as Katniss smacks one across the face with the butt of the rifle and then knocks the feet out from another. She turns in time to see Lark taking a punch to the gut from a guard with a nasty cut on his arm. Snow’s man holds Lark’s good arm above his head, his knife red with the guard’s blood. She takes aim and shoots the guard.

“Thanks,” Lark breaths as Katniss tosses the dead man’s pistol to Lark and he works it so he’s holding gun and knife in his good hand, blade down, barrel out.

They reach the wall, pressing against it as boots thunder through the warehouse. There’s a smaller door with a window in it and Katniss peers through, a smile lifting her lips. Half a dozen cars and several ATVs line the room, a second set of rolling doors lead, hopefully, to the roads outside.

Peering through the door, Lark tests the handle. It gives easily, but when he opens it the smallest amount, an alarm blares through the warehouse and the shouts of the guards renew. Flashes of white uniform head towards them.

Together, they barrel through the door and sprint towards the cars. Lark throws a switch, opening one of the doors and Katniss turns to take down the guards following them.

“Get in and drive!” she shouts to Lark and grabs a black case from one of the ATV’s. It looks like a weapons pack or survival kit. Either way, it should be helpful. He climbs into the nearest car, a grey Beamer, and she wants to roll her eyes at it. Just once, she wants to escape in a stolen Aston Martin.

Lark cranks the engine. She ducks her head and runs for the passenger door, firing wildly while the guards give chase. “GO!”

“One hand; can’t shift!” he yells as she throws the case in the back seat and slams her door. Katniss grabs the stick, wrenching it into first and Lark takes off. They zoom towards the door as bullets ping off the back. The door begins to close and Lark presses down on the accelerator, yelling “Shift!” when he needs another gear. They careen through the door and Lark spins the car to the right, “Downshift!” he orders as the back end of the car scatters a handful of guards and then he floors it.

“Where’s the damn exit,” she mutters as he drives through the complex.

“Over there,” he shows her with an incline of his head. There’s a guard and a gate. Of course.

“Time to find out what’s in this,” she says, turning to the back seat and flipping the case open. Grenades, magazines that will work with her borrowed AR-15, a flare gun…She grabs several grenades and faces forward, rolling down her window as they approach. “Be ready to turn around fast.”

She pulls the pins and lobs the grenades at the gate. The guard flees and the explosions rip a hole in the gate. By now, several black sedans follow them as they leave the complex. She grabs the handle over the door as Lark guides them through the hairpin turns, calling out gears as he needs them and she shifts.

They wind down the mountains, trees towering over them to the right and a stunning view down into the valley and Capitol City to their left. A loud chopping whir fills the air and Katniss looks behind them. A sleek black helicopter with the Snow Industries logo on it has joined the chase. She smiles a little.

“What are the odds the bastard is actually in that thing?”

Lark doesn’t answer and the car goes dark as they enter a tunnel. Bullets still fly at them from behind.

“Enough of this,” she says, grabbing the case and moving it up to sit in her seat. “I hate not shooting back.”

She climbs onto Lark’s lap, straddling him and facing backwards, leaning right so he can still see around her. Then she hits the buttons to lower the driver’s window and open the sunroof. The wind whips over her face and through her hair. Glancing down, Katniss watches his eyes flit up from her chest to meet her gaze. Caught staring. She smiles at him.

“Don’t get any ideas, Lark. Eyes on the road.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jay,” he says, a lopsided smile flirting with his lips as his gaze returns to where they’re going. Her stomach flutters oddly, and she tells herself it’s just the thrill of the chase.

She aims the rifle out the driver’s window and returns fire, one hand resting on the stick and shifting as he requests. She can feel the movement of his thighs beneath hers as he works the pedals, and has to mentally shake away the sensations that causes.

They burst back into sunlight and the helicopter passes low over them. She glances up, hoping for a glimpse of Snow in one of the seats. She thinks she sees a flash of white hair before the door opens and a guard turns a machine gun on a swivel to point at the car.

“Evasive maneuvers!” she yells and Lark takes the car through an irregular serpentine as the guard opens fire. She launches a grenade up at him and it explodes about a meter away from him, enough to make him jump and shoot the car immediately following them instead as shrapnel peppers him and the helicopter. The windshield of the car he hit cracks and the car spins out of control, flipping on its side and rolling.

Katniss has to grab on to Lark as they take a sharp right turn. The rolling car behind them keeps going over the guard rail. The helicopter rises rapidly and another tunnel blocks them from its view. The roar of the engines reverberates off the wall, nearly deafening, as she hurls another grenade at the line of cars following them and opens fire once more. There’s an explosion and the second car back flips over, landing on its hood. It slides along the pavement while the car behind slams into it.

When they emerge from the tunnel, they are left with one car and the helicopter pursuing them. This time, as the helicopter passes low, she’s certain she sees Snow. She shifts for Lark and formulates a plan as she reloads. Cars scream past, headed in the opposite direction. Then come sirens from further down the mountain and she groans.

“He’s the president, Jay,” Lark tilts his head back a second to smile up at her. “He owns the police now, too, if he didn’t already.”

She turns in the seat, and points out a road that forks off to the right. “Take that turn!”

He does as she orders and trees close in on either side of them. The road heads uphill, and the only saving grace of being penned in like this is the power lines that cut over the road at regular intervals and keep the helicopter at too high of an altitude to have a decent shot at them.

She watches the flashing blue lights of Panem’s police force as they join the chase and wracks her brain for ideas.

“Turn us around,” she tells him and flops back into the passenger seat, shoving the case down onto the floor boards. Lark demands gears and she gives them, yanking the emergency brake when he asks, throwing the car into a 180 spin. As the police car right on their tail swerves, she fires at it, taking out the tires and sending it crashing off into the trees. Telling her to release the brake, Lark accelerates and they speed towards the oncoming cars.

Their pursuers swerve to avoid the collision and Katniss releases a few quick bursts of bullets into them as they fly past. Then she lobs a grenade out the sunroof and watches in the rearview mirror as it takes off the front end of one of the police cars. Returning to straddle Lark, she pulls what remains of her arsenal back into the passenger seat.

“I’m a little insulted,” she pouts. “Only five police cars for us?”

“Careful what you wish for,” he says as they fly back down the mountain. She’s got one grenade, the flare, two magazines, and what appears to be a mountain climbing kit to get rid of one of Snow’s cars, two police cars, and a helicopter.

“Hang on,” Lark warns her before turning violently back onto the main road. She peers over the edge and sees only steep falls, trees, and death. Then the car stabilizes and flies down the mountain road.

One of the cars catches them and rams them, the bumpers stick and Lark spins the car. Metal groans as he jerks the wheel back the other direction and the cars tear apart, the other one thrown off to the ditch alongside of the road, leaving only the police and the helicopter. They enter the shadows of another tunnel as Lark straightens them out and Katniss grabs the flare, leaning back to point the barrel of the rifle and the flare out of the sunroof.

“Do you need me to slow down for this?” Lark asks.

“Never,” Katniss says. “It’s almost always better to drive faster when you’re being chased.”

They exit the tunnel and the helicopter dips down at an angle, Katniss shoots up at it, puncturing the fuel tank below the rotors and following immediately with the flare. It burns a brilliant red as it traces up. The pilot pulls the stick and Katniss catches just a glimpse of Snow’s face as the leaking fuel ignites, right before the tanks explodes, ripping the helicopter open.

“Floor it!” she yells and the car lurches forward while the helicopter crashes onto the road behind them, taking out or blocking the police cars, she doesn’t care. “Get us down the mountain to a town so we can ditch this car.”

Katniss clambers back into the passenger seat and smiles at Lark, who just shakes his head and drives.

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

Katniss watches the pair as they leave their apartment, arms linked and laughing, dressed for a night out on the town. Once they’re safely around the corner, she waits ten more minutes to be sure they aren’t returning for a forgotten item.

They’ve escaped Snow and Panem, ditching the badly damaged Beamer, stealing a car in Capitol City and driving it into the woods to cross into Bulgaria on foot, since Snow divested them of their passports. Once across the border, they managed to buy a scooter and food with some of the cash they found in the case off the ATV and made it to Velingrad, but Lark is in pain and she knows she will be too, as soon as the adrenaline wears off, so they’re stopping for first aid.

When she’s certain the couple is not coming back, she tells Lark to lean on her like he’s drunk. He does so as she walks them to the door and picks the lock. Opening the door, she scans the room quickly before dragging Lark, who’s back to cradling his right arm in his left hand, inside and shutting the door. She locks it once more, shoving a chest of drawers in front of it to at least slow anyone down. Lark stumbles and sits heavily on the floor.

“Lie down on your back with your left side up against the wall,” she orders him before searching the flat for supplies. Needle. Fishing line. Bandages. Vodka. Honey. Aspirin. She kneels beside him and orders him to swallow the aspirin down with a healthy gulp of the vodka. Then she prods at his shoulder.

“Dislocated,” she says and he gives her a look that clearly says _No shit._ Katniss smiles and shifts to sit on her bum, her legs spread with one foot braced on the wall, over his head, the other pushing gently against his ribs. Then she takes his right hand and forearm, in her grip. “You’re going to have to relax, Lark.”

He takes a deep breath and exhales, his body starting to relax.

“We just escaped a death trap together and I don’t even know your full name,” he says almost teasingly and she begins to gently pull on his arm.

“Everdeen,” she tells him. “Katniss Everdeen.”

“How long have you been doing this job, Katniss?” The silence stretches between them as she continues to pull. “It’ll be easier for me to relax if I have something distracting me.”

She looks in his eyes at that and sees nothing dangerous. Astonishing, given their line of work, which means he’s either in a lot of pain, or very good at his job.

“Eight years,” she tells him. “Since I was 21.”

“They told me you were the youngest to receive double 0 status,” he says and she bristles at him knowing that much. He winces and makes a small noise of pain and she relaxes her hold on his arm.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I am. That was two years ago. What about you?”

He gives her a weak smile. “I started three years ago. When I was 26. So I guess that makes us the same age.”

“Hmmm,” she says noncommittally. “M recruited you then?”

“Something like that,” he says and makes a strange noise in his throat. There’s a flash of pain in his eyes.

“Does this hurt?” she asks softly and he shakes his head. Internal demons then, she thinks. That’s not surprising at all.

“How do you manage to blend in, Katniss?” he asks, and she rather likes the sound of her name the way he says it. “I think if I saw you walking down the street, I wouldn’t be able to look away.”

“That would be the pain or the vodka talking,” she says and there’s a soft pop and Lark winces then sighs as the ball of his shoulder slides back into place. Katniss releases his arm and tells him to move it around a little, but not too much. He sits up and does so.

“Your turn,” he says. She presents her side to him and lifts her shirt. Lark removes her hastily wrapped bandages and makes a sound of distress. “It’s started to bleed again. I think it’s going to need stitching.”

“Yes, well. If you know what you’re doing, I think I’ve got everything,” she waves at the supplies and he nods. Then he sets to work. She gulps down some of the vodka before handing it to him to splash on her wound. She hisses at the intense sting of it.

“After we’re done here, we’re going to need to either contact home or find our own way back,” Lark says softly, and she’s grateful for the distraction as he spreads a light layer of honey in the open laceration and then begins stitching her flesh back together. “Snow’s men found the tracking devices on our belts back in Bucharest, so they’ll have no idea where we are.”

“We’ll head to our embassy in Sofia when we’re done here. Then we’ll need to figure out why Snow thought we killed Lavinia and the others. If that assassin wasn’t Snow’s, we need to know who he belonged to and why he murdered those four people. This job isn’t done yet,” Katniss tells him.

“There’s also Panem. All those innocent people caught in the midst of this. What happens to them?”

She nods to indicate he’s right, but she has no answer for that. It’s not really their job. Then they fall silent. Katniss uses the chance to examine him in a way she hasn’t done as yet. When they’d first met, she analyzed his size and muscle tone, looking for strengths as well as weaknesses. Potential for speed and agility. The intelligence in his gaze and the confidence in his handshake. The lack of any reaction to the fact that he was paired with a female agent who was also licensed to kill without direct orders.

Now, she takes in his facial features, recognizing him as being handsome, almost aristocratic looking. His blond hair short but impeccably styled. Very light stubble along his jaw that tells her he likely shaved in Bucharest yesterday morning. Clear blue eyes that remind her of deep lochs back home in Scotland. Impossibly long lashes that she thinks ought to tangle when he blinks. Small creases at the corners of his eyes as he concentrates. He’s probably from a wealthy family, which begs the question of how he ended up here.

Disturbed by the personal direction her thoughts are taking, Katniss wracks her brain for something else to talk about. Work seems to be a safe subject. “You’ve worked with others? Before me, that is.”

“Yes,” he says tightly, and she wonders at this. “I worked with Morpheus, 006 for a bit. She…”

He trails off, but he doesn’t need to explain. Katniss already knows what happened to 006. Killed four months ago on a mission recovering a shipment of illegal weapons, stolen by Snow and smuggled through Azerbaijan to be sold to any number of groups touting chaos and violence in former Soviet nations. How many agents and innocents had fallen to his schemes? Now, she looks down and watches Lark clench his jaw as he focuses on his task. Snow’s death feels anticlimactic after the years she’s devoted to proving the depths of his twisted deeds.

Something else Katniss knows, however, makes her reach out and brush back the stray hair that’s fallen over Lark’s forehead. He glances up at her and she sees in his eyes the answer to her question. 006 was one of very few agents lost in the line of duty whose body has made it back home. And based on the haunted look Katniss sees now, she thinks that Lark is probably the reason that 006 lies at home instead lost somewhere unknown.

Katniss swallows and nods her head. “Perhaps you should finish that.”

Lark says nothing, only ducks his head and returns to stitching her up. To distract herself, Katniss looks around the flat they’re in. It’s quaint and homey. There are pictures of the couple who lives here on vacation somewhere. In the mountains or something. They look so happy. So blissfully unaware of how quickly everything you love can be taken away.

“We should leave some money for this family,” she says, surprising even herself. “For the use of their home and first aid supplies.”

Lark chuckles and tilts his head to continue working on her. “That would be the nice thing to do.”

There’s a slight tug on her skin and Lark sits up, reaching for the clean bandages. Once they’re in place, she pulls her shirt back down and he helps her to her feet. She sways a moment and his hands tighten over hers, steadying her. Her eyes lift to his and she watches him swallow, the air round them suddenly thick. Katniss leans forward ever so slightly and watches Larks’s eyes flit down to her lips then back up. He gives her hands one more squeeze and then drops them to back away from her.

Something vile sweeps through her and she blinks, trying to find her footing in the rocky world of feelings she usually keeps tamped tightly down but are suddenly clamoring for attention. His face is smudged with dirt or oil, his shirt is horribly rumpled, and there’s a stain on his pants, a small cut on his leg. Bruises and rope burns ring his wrists and arms.

“You look a mess, Lark,” she says to diffuse the tension and he laughs, counting out a few bills from their cash and tucking it into a kitchen drawer while she retrieves the weapons they took off of Snow’s men from the table and hands one back to him.

“That’s not at all kind after what we’ve been through, Jay.”

Once they’ve set the place back to rights, Katniss checks outside the door and then motions for Lark to follow. Silently, they make their way through the night, back towards home, questions still rolling around Katniss’ brain.

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

TO BE CONTINUED…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: 
> 
> Many thanks to abbythebear, titania522, and peetabreadgirl who have served as betas, sounding boards, and cheerleaders as I wrote this. I love you, ladies.
> 
> Magnificent banner artwork made by loving-mellark
> 
> For the sake of this work of fiction, Panem is a small, made-up country located in the Rhodope Mountains, wedged between Bulgaria and Greece. The opening scene takes place in Bucharest, Romania.
> 
> The cross casting of the characters, as well as their actions and relationships, will be a reflection of the characters from The Hunger Games, rather than those from the world of James Bond. Katniss may do things that Bond likely never would. She may also refrain from certain actions that I have a hard time attributing to her. For instance, Katniss is very particular about who she shares physical intimacy with and I chose not to change that about her for this fic.
> 
> Inspiration for this story was pulled primarily from the Bond films starring Daniel Craig, although you may occasionally see a touch of Sean Connery’s and Pierce Brosnan’s portrayals of Bond in here as well.
> 
> My apologies, I’m an American, and while I tried to use British spellings and grammar, I probably failed in a few places.
> 
> I am neither Suzanne Collins nor do I have any claim to the James Bond franchise. Just borrowing the worlds and characters for a bit of creative fun.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am using a timeline that's unheard of for a Bond story, that is, it will alternate between present events and flashbacks. Dates will be given at the start of each section, and I promise I have a reason for doing this that will hopefully be clear in the next couple chapters. The primary events will be labeled as "Present Day."

_I've seen places, faces and smiled for a moment,_  
_But oh, you haunted me so._  
_Still my tongue tied, young pride,_  
_Would not let my love for you show,_  
_In case you say no._

**- _From Russia With Love,_ Matt Monro  
Theme song to _From Russia With Love_ (1963)**

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

**_Cairo, Egypt: Present Day… Five years after the death of Coriolanus Snow_ **

Dark clouds drift across the night sky, obscuring the moonlight as shadows creep around corners and down long corridors. Katniss waits, cloaked in the shadows’ depths as the security guard makes his rounds. A soft beep and a click alerts her that he’s opened the door. Her feet fly silently over the floor as she approaches him from behind, following through the open portal. Leaping on the guard’s back, she clamps his arms to his sides with her legs, muffles his cry of alarm with a gloved hand over his mouth, and grips his neck, putting pressure on the arteries on either side, just under his jaw. He twists, trying to dislodge her, pulse frantic under her hold, but he soon goes limp. Scrambling back to the floor, she softens his fall and mentally apologizes to the poor man. He’s going to wake with a devil of a headache and his job on the line.

Divesting the guard of his ID card and access badges, she hides him behind a rolling cart, then she continues to the upper floors and the offices occupied by senior level engineers. The building is eerily quiet, her only company the occasional click and whir of computer systems crunching data. When she reaches the office labeled 518, she double-checks the name on the placard and sweeps the corridor once more to ensure she is alone. Then she works the lock open and slips inside, shutting the door behind her.

Pausing at the threshold, she lets her eyes adjust to the complete darkness and scans the office. Nothing appears out of place based on the information headquarters provided so she begins her search, photographing pages and diagrams of chemical compounds. She has no time to decipher these now; when the security guard doesn’t return to the guard station in about twenty minutes, they’ll send out another guard to check on him and raise the alarm.

Just as she’s about to return everything to its place, she notices something odd about the proportions of the desk. Tugging on the drawer, she finds it locked and smiles triumphantly. However, her victory is short-lived as a voice rumbles in the corridor, speaking in agitated tones. Katniss drops, tucking herself under the desk as a key slides into the door. Faint light from the hallway slants across the office and she tucks her feet in closer as the man approaches the desk. She slows her breathing and her heart rate. The man halts and keys rattle in the drawer. He pulls the entire thing out and ends his phone call, setting the drawer and his phone on the floor while he rummages in the bowels of the desk.

Katniss carefully repositions herself, and as the man emerges from the hollow space where the drawer once was, she smiles at him to disarm him. For a second, his eyes go wide in alarm, but then she knocks him across the temple and he falls unconscious, a laptop and a binder clutched in his grasp.

“What have we here, doctor?” She purrs, tucking the laptop and binder into her pack. She shifts her weight around, testing how it affects her balance before replacing the drawer. She turns off his phone, slips that into one of the many zippered pockets in her pants and quickly binds the good engineer’s hands and feet and hoists him over her shoulders in a modified fireman’s carry. She falters a little under his dead weight.

 _This would be much simpler with a partner_ , she thinks.

Trying not to sigh, Katniss shoves away the unwelcome thoughts. Then she borrows the man’s keys to lock his office back up and trudges as quickly as his added weight will allow before she reaches the side stairwell. Opening the door, she listens for footsteps, and hearing none, she slinks awkwardly down the stairs, pausing once to release an exasperated huff as she leans against the wall. Before she continues, she resettles her burden on her shoulders.

Using the pilfered badges to move through the doors, Katniss leaves the guard’s IDs just inside the last set of doors after she’s opened it to the warm midnight air. Once she’s outside the office building, she ducks through back alleys until she reaches her car. It beeps at her approach and she unceremoniously drops the man into the boot, biting back a snarl when she has to waste precious seconds shoving at his limbs to get him all the way inside. For good measure, she yanks his tie off and uses it to blindfold him. Finally, she climbs in and drives into the night.

Four blocks away, the flashing lights of Cairo’s police force fly by in the opposite direction and Katniss smirks. A series of quick turns brings her to what appears to be an abandoned warehouse of sorts, a faded sign proclaiming “Universal Exports” hangs crooked, supported only on one corner. She drives through the opening hidden behind tall, scrubby bushes and into a large lift. Then she waits patiently as it lowers her and the car down. When it halts, she pulls forward and stops next to a rusted orange door.

As she climbs out, the door opens, admitting a man in a light grey suit, and Katniss smiles casually at him, although her stomach clenches a little too.

“That went smoother than expected.”

“Really, Lark,” Katniss says. “It’s as though you have no faith in me.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m simply familiar with your penchant for leaving even the most tame of situations with a hail of gunfire. Phoenix Tech has alerted the police so we’ll need to lay low for a bit and---“

Lark stops talking as a loud _thump_ and a muffled cry comes from the back of her car. His eyes widen and he steps over to stand behind it, examining the door as it rattles under the sudden onslaught. Another series of rapid _thumps_ and some cursing in Arabic prompts Lark to look over at her and she steps closer, drawing her gun and smiling at Lark. She hopes it comes off as guileless, but his eyebrows lift and she can tell he’s trying not to lose his temper by the way he’s working his jaw, his eyes almost accusing her.

“Is there a man in your boot, Jay?”

She shrugs innocently. “Are you jealous, Lark? I could always tie you up and toss you in the boot. Although I think you’d warrant a gag in addition to a blindfold.”

“Please.” He glares at her and shifts on his feet, crosses his arms, although his cheeks turn pink at her words. “I have no desire to be manhandled that way. And you were only supposed to be gathering information.”

“You’re starting to sound like M,” she accuses, and his eyes narrow in response. “Although, I suppose that’s inevitable, isn’t it?”

Lark sighs heavily and drops his arms, clenching his fists at his sides. She wraps her fingers around his tie, just below the knot, and pulls him towards her until their noses are almost brushing. “I had to carry that oaf down four flights of stairs and out of the building by myself. And you’re upset with _me_ , Lark?”

He momentarily purses his lips into a thin line, closing his eyes. She wants to shake him until he opens them for her. “Are we going to have this argument again, Jay? I thought we were past that.”

There’s more thumping from the car and Katniss tugs on Lark’s tie to keep him from getting distracted by the racket. “He came back to his office for a few things while I was searching. What was I supposed to do? Leave him there? He saw my face. Besides, if he talks, we might be able to analyze what I found a little faster.”

Lark shakes his head and finally looks at her, his gaze intense. She wants to sing and shrivel into the floor all at once. “You’re supposed to stop taking unneeded risks,” he whispers.

“You’re the only one who thinks they aren’t needed,” she snaps and steps away from him, pointing her gun at the boot once more. “I blindfolded him, but no telling if it’s come loose, so he might be seeing your face, too. For a tense moment, she thinks Lark is going to scold her some more, but he presses a finger into his ear to activate the microphone on his earpiece and rattles off quick instructions to have a room set up for interrogation. Then he pops the boot and Dr. Ahme Ma’rouq freezes, squinting up at them, his tie shoved up on his forehead, but his other bonds still secure.

“Enjoy the drive, doctor?” Katniss asks before Lark fixes the blindfold and drags his wriggling form from the car.

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

**_Seoul, South Korea: 4 Years, 7 Months Ago…_ **

As she walks onto the tarmac, Katniss slips on her sunglasses against the blinding noon sunshine. Hidden behind the lenses, her eyes sweep her surroundings and the line of people heading towards the airplane in front of her. The high whine of the turbines spooling up fills the air, rendering her hearing almost useless.

She can’t stand not having one of her senses at her disposal.

At least the queue is short and she’s on the plane within a few minutes. It’s stifling hot with the AC unavailable until the engines start and the sun baking the fuselage. Katniss fans herself as the line pauses for passengers ahead of her to stow their carry-ons and sit down. She smiles sweetly at the man in 4A when she catches him looking at her. He blushes and quickly drops his gaze.

The queue moves again and she slowly makes her way towards the back of the plane. Katniss lets her eyes pass over Lark, seated in 16B, without lingering. He has his head tilted back and his hands folded serenely in his lap, appears to be taking a nap. Once she reaches the very last row, she shoves her bag beneath the seat and settles in, buckling her seat belt and making another scan now that she can see the entire cabin again.

The last of the passengers board and the attendants begin preparations while Katniss mentally reviews all their intel so far and analyzes the details of their plan, what little they’ve developed. When she’s done with that, she searches for something else to focus on. As the plane takes off, her mind wanders to a place she usually refrains from allowing it to go - the past.

Five months ago, when she and Lark made it to the British embassy in Sofia, they found the place in a state of near chaos. President Coriolanus Snow of Panem had been pronounced dead, killed in an unfortunate helicopter accident. The media was agog with conspiracy theories on whether this could have been an assassination instead of an accident, or the result of industrial sabotage, the details of her and Lark’s escape down the mountain conspicuously absent from the coverage. The only stations that were not covering Snow’s death were the ones under the control of Rose Broadcasting, the media branch of his company. Those stations had strangely gone dark and silent until after Snow’s funeral, when they reopened under the helm of new management.

Three days after the mountain chase, his funeral was held in Panem, and Katniss tried to find some sense of satisfaction or relief. She had dedicated years to destroying Snow. Now that he was dead, she searched for something. Anything. But the red hot desire for justice that had burned in her, kept her going through every mission for eight years was suddenly extinguished, leaving a hollow shell.

She feels like she’s being consumed by apathy.

Katniss leans out in the aisle and catches a glimpse of Lark, chatting with the man across the corridor from him, an amiable smile on his face. She briefly wishes she could hear him, have his voice in her ear. She’s gotten used to it being there, but now is not a good time for earpieces.

Upon their return to London, M had spent a solid ten minutes chewing Lark out for letting the assassin escape and then another ten reaming her over her reckless loss of her own earpiece in Bucharest and even more reckless act of discarding Lark’s in the Danube. M had threatened to get Q to develop a microchip to have implanted in Katniss’ brain so she could never remove her earpiece again. For all his quiet discussions about the power of technology and the responsibilities of those who develop it, Katniss could picture Q pushing his glasses up his nose and feverishly setting to work in his lab, rolling his wheelchair from one bank of computers to the next, on a mad quest to create such a horrid device. He could probably do it, too.

M in her head twenty-four/seven…the idea terrified her. But Lark’s voice…that might not be so bad.

Five months of training together and a few low-key observations while they both healed had gotten her used to having his voice vibrating in her ear. They’ve become familiar with the other’s tones and inflections. And while Katniss no longer feels the heat of the hunt in her blood since Snow’s passing, she does feel a flicker of a spark of something whenever Lark makes her smile with a sly comment. Or when she teases him back. Sometimes, she even initiates the teasing, and feels that same faint spark when her efforts gain a scoff of indignation or one of his lopsided smiles. The left side of his mouth always pulls up first and rises higher than the right when he smiles.

Now they’re headed to Thailand and their first mission since they returned home from Romania via Panem and Bulgaria. And she’s no longer annoyed to have him for a partner. Who would have thought?

The plane levels out and Lark finishes his conversation, pulls a book from his bag and flips it open. Katniss smiles faintly and keeps her attention divided between the occupants of the plane and Lark’s hands as they move over the paper. Something else she’s learned about her new partner in the past few months. He’s an artist. Lark fills the empty minutes of waiting by drawing just about anything. And she likes observing him while he brings the pages of his sketchbook to life.

As she watches him sketch out a random passenger on the plane and then a blue jay, her smile deepens, settling into a calm warmth she rarely gets to feel. Perhaps she should take Lark’s cue and find herself a hobby to help fill the void.

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

**_Cairo, Egypt: Present Day…_ **

Katniss leans against the table they’ve placed along the wall while Lark sets Dr. Ma’rouq down in a cane back chair in the center of the stark room. Lark then cuts the ties from his feet so their captive can at least maintain his balance. A single light hangs above the chemical engineer’s head, casting a sickly glow over the windowless room that bears no distinguishing marks. If and when she dumps him near his home later, he shouldn’t be able to guide anyone back here. But that will depend on his answers…

Lark pulls the tie from Dr. Ma’rouq’s face and steps back to block his path to the door. Katniss watches the man struggle to hide his fear behind a mask of anger. She gives him just enough time to take in the surroundings and get his face to settle in his chosen defensive expression.

“You are well known and respected in your field, Dr. Ma’rouq. Which makes me wonder what a Libyan engineer whose expertise is mining natural gas is doing in Cairo, working for a firm whose specialty is defense. And unless I am mistaken, these compounds,” she shows him one of the photographs she snapped in his office, “look an awful lot like nerve agents.”

Ma’rouq’s eyes narrow and Katniss picks his billfold up from the table behind her. She opens it and smiles sweetly, pulling out a photograph that’s bent and worn around the edges.

“Your family?” she asks, turning the photo around for his inspection. He squirms in his seat but remains resolutely silent. “Such lovely daughters, Dr. Ma’rouq. And so kind of your current employer to extricate you and your family from Libya right before all of the turmoil and move you to the relative safety of Cairo.”

“I won’t tell you a thing,” he spits out in Arabic and Lark translates for her. She smiles at the look of confusion that crosses Ma’rouq’s face. She nods and waits while Lark repeats everything Katniss just said in Arabic and the man’s eyes grow hard again.

Suddenly, he’s up from his chair, knocking it over, a razor blade in his hands and the plastic ties Katniss used to restrain his wrists severed and on the ground. It’s a desperate move. As he lunges at Lark, Katniss leaps out, grasping the man’s wrist and elbowing him in the face. He staggers and she spins them both, twists his arm backwards and up until the blade clatters to the ground. Katniss knees him in the kidneys and kicks the back of one knee before shoving him to the floor. With a cry of pain, he lands in a heap. Calmly picking up the overturned chair, she uses her foot to force him onto his back then places the chair over him, two legs under his armpits and two above his shoulders with the back lower rung right over his throat.

“Have a seat, Lark,” she says pleasantly. Lark carefully straddles the chair, resting his crossed arms over the back as he sits, looking down at their captive’s face and placing his feet on Ma’rouq’s upper arms to keep them pinned down. Ma’rouq gags and gasps out something in Arabic, to which Lark shifts the chair up Ma’rouq’s neck just enough so the man can breathe.

He shakes his head and mumbles, eyes rapidly filling with tears. Lark translates his words haltingly.

“He says he didn’t have a choice... He was investigating an accident at one of the sites in Libya and a few days later...he was approached by a woman. Grey hair, American, very succinct and a little overbearing... He says she offered him the job in Cairo. He says because of a paper he wrote while getting his doctorate...about the effects of combining different chemical agents.”

Ma’rouq has started to kick his feet a little as he breaks, and Katniss gently prompts him for more. “Your company is not owned or connected to any in America.”

Ma’rouq nods after Lark translates and continues to babble.

“That was a front. He is an Egyptian government employee through Phoenix Tech, but his real work was for this American woman... He has no idea who she is or who she works for or how she managed to get him placed at Phoenix. At first he refused the job...said it was immoral, but the grey haired lady threatened his family... Still, he refused. Two days later, his cousin and best friend... showed up dead. So he took the job to protect his family... He says no one can really keep his family safe from these people. They have eyes everywhere.”

Her eyes meet Lark’s and she sees the silent question in them, gives a small nod to let him know they’ll find a way. To be certain he understands, she mouths one word. _Asylum._ This man is nothing but a pawn, but he may lead them to bigger pieces.

Ma’rouq squeezes his eyes shut and continues to murmur what sounds like a prayer while Lark soothingly talks to Ma’rouq in Arabic, offering asylum and protection for him and his family in exchange for full cooperation.

Ma’rouq nods and Lark stands, taking the chair with him. Ma’rouq inhales deeply before expelling rapid words in a panicked voice. As Lark’s brow furrows in response, the captive man squeezes something that crackles in his palm, his body jolts spasmodically as Lark and Katniss both kneel beside him. Lark calls for a medic over his earpiece, but a second later, Ma’rouq’s body lays still, eyes sightless, mouth foaming. Lark hangs his head with a sigh.

“What did he say?” she asks gently while Lark shuts the man’s eyes, and pries his hand open to reveal a smattering of glass shards embedded in a small sunburst of cuts in his palm.

“That the only way to protect his wife and daughters is for him to die before anyone finds out that he talked.”

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

**_Sumatra, Indonesia: 4 Years, 5 Months Ago…_ **

“So that decides it, then?” Lark asks when she’s done explaining the plan to him, his head bent over the information they’ve gathered over the past month and a half, first in Thailand, and now here in Sumatra. “This one is marked to kill.”

His voice sounds dead as he drops the stack topped with the picture of their target on the table between them. Katniss picks up her bowl of rice and nods solemnly before resuming her meal at a leisurely pace. He pushes away from the table and moves to stand by the window, opening it to let in the fresh breeze and salty ocean air.

“You had to have known what you were getting into. Didn’t M explain it to you?” she asks with a bite to her voice. His response to their mission turning to a kill irks her. She feels…inferior. Judged. This is her call. The target is a bastard. Responsible for one of the worst human trafficking rings in southeast Asia. A ring that only came under MI6’s observation because he had also discovered how lucrative selling stolen government secrets is, and how easy it was to use his “merchandise” to move that information since no one would suspect forced prostitutes of carrying satellite encryption codes or similar data. “Are you saying you refuse to kill anyone?”

Lark sighs and shakes his head. “No it isn’t that. I’ve had to before, you’ve seen that, Jay. If it is necessary, I can kill someone. But that doesn’t mean I take pleasure in it or even want to do it.”

“You think I do?” she snaps and Lark finally turns to face her.

“No, I don’t think you do at all.” They stare one another down for a seemingly interminable stretch before he speaks again. “Katniss, I’m not trying to justify this man’s actions. He’s abhorrent. I just wish we could bring him to justice in the public’s eyes rather than just assassinate him. He’s a snake. And another snake will slither out of the grass to take his place after he’s dead.”

Katniss picks one of Lark’s knives up off the table and flips it over in her hand. She’s good with a knife, but not as good as him. She still can’t shake the look of astonishment on their last pair of sparring partners before they left home. Lark had left one of the men’s clothes covered in a crosshatch pattern in the marker dye they used to indicate a hit in training.

He’s awfully deadly for someone who is now having doubts about his chosen profession.

“Well,” she says succinctly, standing and sweeping the photograph and papers off the table, leaving his knife in their place. “It’s a good thing that I’ll be the one killing him, then, isn’t it?”

She turns her back to Lark and walks to the door, deciding she’ll spend some time down at the beach before they have to get ready. But she pauses at the threshold, feeling his eyes boring into her back.

“Lark, it’s my job to get rid of the snakes that justice can’t or won’t touch. And that means knowing who to kill, and who not to kill. Don’t believe for a second that I do this job for some perverse pleasure or thrill.”

She’s out before he can say another word and walks briskly down the hall to her room. Real estate here is cheap, so MI6 was able to afford the rent on a small house for them to use for the duration of their mission. After quickly changing into her bathing suit, she makes her way to the small stretch of beach the house sits on and dives under the waves.

The water laps at her as Lark’s words beat around her mind. She kicks and submerges into the azure depths, hoping to find some peace or confirmation that her decision is the right one. At one point, she turns back to shore, astonished at how far out she swam. Treading water, she scans the distant beach and sees him, a lone figure standing in the sand. He’s too far away to see clearly, but she imagines him tilting his head back to enjoy the breeze and the fading warmth of the sun, hands tucked in his pockets. Briefly, she wonders if he rolled up the legs of his trousers or left them to drag in the sand. Is he barefoot, with the warm beach sliding between his toes?

Cutting the thought short, Katniss dives back under, trying to purge her personal thoughts of Lark. She can’t let him be a distraction, or a source of doubt. Not when she has a task to complete.

She swims until the sun has dipped halfway below the horizon and pauses on the beach, in almost the exact spot he stood in, overlooking the water, holding a towel loosely wrapped around her body. Prim would have adored this place. She was always fond of the beach. Her parents likely would have spent their days in the hammock stretched between two palm trees off to her left, their fingers entwined and heads resting close so that they might share whispered secrets.

The mental picture belongs in another life, to another Katniss. Not to Agent Jay. So she shakes her head clear and marches herself back into the house, using the veranda door, which Lark has left open. She’s about ready to berate him for that when she crosses the threshold, the gauze curtains dancing about her before she emerges into the room.

Lark sits at the table, the sniper rifle partially assembled in front of him. At her entrance, he looks up, a strange expression swimming in his eyes. He sniffs slightly and nods at her in greeting before he continues his task. Cleaning, oiling, assembling, testing, disassembling.

Once the rifle is checked and resting secure in its case, Lark stands and stares back at her, a small smile lifting his lips.

“You aren’t wearing that, are you?” he teases, and she notes that he’s already dressed in all black, his tactical gear waiting on the table. His sudden change in mood confuses her and she shifts on her feet, prompting him to sigh. “Katniss, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you; it’s just that I want to know that you are sure. That there is no other way than to take this man out.”

Their mission started in Thailand, where the target’s “business” was primarily based and operated. Weeks of following leads and tailing his employees and the man himself had left them with a mountain of information that made Katniss physically ill but would likely not hold up in any court. Not with the Thai government so eager to turn their backs and line their pockets with the profits. Eventually, they followed their mark here, to his vacation home in Indonesia.

“I’m sure,” she answers firmly. “Do you trust me enough to make that call?”

Lark nods and walks around the table to stand in front of her. The chill of the evening air has raised gooseflesh on her skin and she leans slightly towards the warmth radiating off his body. He reaches out and rubs his hands over her arms, chasing away the cold.

“I may not know much about you, Katniss, but I do trust you. There were moments in Panem when I was more of a burden than anything else. And yet, you found a way to get us both out of there.”

“No, Lark,” she shakes her head, keeping her eyes trained on his blue ones so he knows she means it. “We got each other out of there.”

He smiles a little and drops his head, their foreheads touching for just a whisper of a moment. “Let’s get you dressed, then, Jay. We have a job to do.”

Once she’s showered and changed, Katniss returns to the sitting room, where Lark is closing the doors to the veranda. The gear once spread on the table - a camera, his knives, and an assortment of other handy bits of weaponry - has now vanished, stowed in the many pockets of his pants and jacket, the knives tucked in their sheathes hidden in the double layered mesh of his boots. That’s how Snow’s men missed them completely when they had searched him in Bucharest, he once explained to her. Cinna designed his boots for him to help disguise the presence of the weapons, and they are now becoming standard issue.

He turns to face her and his lips part slightly. She squirms under his scrutiny, running her hands self-consciously over the dark purple fabric of her gown.

“Well? Do I look the part?”

“Yeah,” he says dumbly. The he clears his throat and blinks a few times. “Yes. You look…lovely.”

Emboldened by his reaction, Katniss twirls for him, letting her skirt swish around her ankles, the slit parting to reveal a flash of her left leg. “You can’t see the gun, can you?”

“I…well, I wasn’t looking for the gun,” he admits and she halts. He motions for her to twirl again and she sighs in exasperation.

“Really, Lark. You are not helping bolster my confidence in our success for tonight,” she says and twirls once more.

When she faces him again, he’s grinning and her annoyance melts away. “You should feel very confident in that dress and the effect you’ll have in it.” Then his smile falls. “We could do this from a distance. There’s no need for you to get that close to him.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I want him to know why, first. And it’s also a chance to confirm who the next snake in the grass will likely be. Besides, you’ll be in a perfect position to take care of it from a distance if needed, and,” she picks her earpiece up off the table before sliding it into her purse, “I’ll have you in my ear the whole time.”

He still looks reluctant, so she shifts closer to him, close enough to place her hands on his chest and draw his eyes up from the floor where he’d started to stare and back to her.

“Why are you here, Lark?”

“Queen and country,” he says dryly and she can’t help but laugh. That doesn’t seem right at all. His eyes drop once more and he whispers this time. “Why are _you_ here?”

“I told you,” she says, unzipping his jacket under the guise of checking his equipment. “To get rid of the snakes.”

He lets out a short breath of amusement and takes her hands in his, removing them from his torso, but leaving their joined hands to hang at their sides. “But why here? Why like this?”

“I had no one left to put at risk; one of the snakes was responsible for that.” The words slip out before she has a chance to stop them. She blinks and tries to recover. “And because I’m good at it.”

They stand still joined by their hands, his engulfing hers in warmth, steadying her as she fights back the flood of memories assailing her, waiting for him to tell her that he’s the same way. M once told her that people with no one left to lose make the best recruits.

“Did you get rid of him, Jay?” he asks instead, his voice sounding a little choked.

“I did,” she says, pulling her hands free and turning away from him before she finds the courage to share any more with him. “With a little help from a Lark.”

Behind her, she hears Lark’s sharp inhale as he zips his jacket back up and then the sounds of his footsteps as he picks up the case with the sniper rifle and follows her outside to the car.

“What about you?” she asks after he’s slammed the boot, sniper rifle safely tucked inside.

“It’s a little complicated for me,” he says.

“Because you aren’t a double-0? Can’t kill your own snakes yet?” She tries to tease, but it falls flat.

Lark shakes his head and shuffles his feet. “No, it’s not--” he takes a few deep breaths and then glances at her from under his lashes. “I’m not sure I belong here. And I don’t think I want the double-0.”

Before she can respond, he moves to open the door and ushers her into the driver’s seat. Fighting her returning feelings that he’s judging her, she slips into the seat and cranks the engine while he walks around the car and climbs in, fastening his belt before looking up at her again.

“Why would I need it when I’ve got you to protect me?” he teases, his eyes bright and a little sheepish in the glow of the dashboard lights. Katniss can’t help the sardonic laugh that bubbles up from her chest. He smiles and relaxes into his seat as she shifts the car into first and leaves behind their little haven.

They don’t speak as she drives, instead letting the weight of their earlier talk lift and drift away on the island air that whips through the cabin of the car. Her hair will be windblown and tangled, but she wants to feel this. It keeps her thoughts from getting muddled with the mystery that is Lark. She allows herself one glance at him and her lips twitch at the sight of him smearing camouflage paint over his features.

Once they reach his entry point to the property, Lark climbs out of the car, retrieves the rifle and comes to stand next to her window. He waits until she has her earpiece in and they’ve done a quick test. Then he turns and disappears into the night.

“Be careful, Jay,” he says in her ear, from somewhere deep in the shadows of palm trees.

“You didn’t tell me about your snakes,” she accuses lightly and he chuckles.

“How about we discuss something safer?”

“Safer?” she asks skeptically, maneuvering the car through a series of winding turns.

“Yes,” Lark says. “Such as what your favorite color is.”

She laughs merrily and pictures him smiling that stupid lopsided grin of his.

“I would guess green,” he says and she gasps. “Am I right?”

She tries to ignore him, to focus on the road ahead. They have a job to do, and knowing these things about one another is dangerous.

 _Not nearly as dangerous as knowing about each other’s pasts,_ a niggling voice says in her head.

And yet, she still wants to know. Still wants to share, even. There are muffled sounds over the earpiece indicating that he’s found and knocked out the first guard, left him restrained and hidden in the underbrush.

“Alright, I see you’re not biting,” he says with a strange tenor to his voice. “The answer is that if there were someone to blame for my being here, a snake, as it were…they’re already dead. Their death is actually what brought me here.”

She scrunches her nose and shifts, letting the silence stretch with only the sounds of the car and him taking care of the second guard to interrupt. His answer makes little sense to her.

“And my favorite color is orange,” he says.

“Orange?” she asks, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice.

“Did you see the sunset tonight? While you were out swimming?” The softness of his voice winds through her, wrapping her in warmth and soothing, dulcet waves. “That soft orange. Not a garish orange.”

Katniss smiles, her body relaxing as she approaches the mansion. This feeling of content is dangerous to have as she heads into a mission. Still, she lets it linger for a few delicious moments, savoring the tendrils created as they swirl through her blood, recalling the silky streamers of orange in the sunset and making her want to sigh, to curl up somewhere and forget the villains of the world.

As she approaches her target’s lavish vacation home, the lights of the fete he is hosting cut into her reverie. The overpowering brightness in the pitch black of the island night is difficult to ignore, but the noise and distraction of the revelries should provide her with cover for her task. Reminded of what she’s here to do, she clears her throat.

“You’re right, Lark. My favorite color is green. Now shut up and tell me when you’re in place.”

“Can’t do both,” he jokes and she snorts. “I’m in place, Jay. You’ve got eighty minutes until the guards start wondering why the trio I incapacitated haven’t returned yet. I can see Kray right now. Sure you don’t want this done at a distance?” The faint metallic sounds of Lark assembling the sniper rifle travel across the airwaves and into her ear. She realizes she completely missed the muted shuffles of him dealing with the third guard. Gripping the steering wheel, she chastises herself for her carelessness, and straightening her spine and her resolve, shoves aside their precariously intimate words.

“Tempting, but no. Is he alone?”

“No,” Lark answers, confirming her choice. “He’s got at least half a dozen people with him.”

“Then wait and proceed as planned. See if you can get some pictures,” she keeps her voice tight and professional. “Sit tight, Lark. I may need you later.”

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

**_London England: Present Day…_ **

Staring out the window, Katniss half listens to the driver chat nonsensically about the weather and who knows what else, her body swaying slightly with the motions of the car, the faces of Dr. Ahme Ma’rouq and his family swimming under the thin veil of her subconscious. Her luggage is packed and stowed in the boot of the car, and she takes in the sights of London on yet another dreary afternoon. Briefly, she wonders how long she’ll be gone this time.

When she left Cairo, it was with the laptop, binder, glass shards from Ma’rouq’s palms, and a sample of his blood in her luggage. M had approved a chartered jet, with some urging from Lark, to prevent triggering any alerts on the items she carried. In the end, M only acquiesced because they had no idea who they were dealing with yet. He’d sent Katniss to Cairo expecting to find a separatist movement with violent aims hidden in the ranks of the Egyptian government. Instead, she stumbled upon something led by an unknown American? It made no sense, and Ma’rouq’s morbid comment about the American having eyes everywhere made even M pause, quite the accomplishment given what a salty old codger he is. She recalls how his brow had furrowed and his eyes seemed lost in some painful memory for just a moment after she relayed Ma’rouq’s words. As quickly as it came, the expression on M’s face had vanished. It didn’t take much to figure out why. Based on the stories Katniss had heard, Ma’rouq’s words harkened back to the days M himself had spent in the field working against Soviet agents and the KGB.

With assistance from a field agent from the Cairo field office, Katniss had taken Ma’rouq’s body back to his office to leave him in a place he would be easily found. They doctored the body to make it appear that he had died of a heart attack, and she hoped the ruse would work. If it didn’t, she had also left a team in place to surveil the Ma’rouq family and intervene if protection was needed. She assumed retribution would be swift, if it came at all. Also, Katniss had taken a gamble that if the heart attack deception failed, the mysterious grey haired American would come to the conclusion that Ma’rouq had been killed in the office for the missing laptop and data-filled binder, hopefully erasing any reason for her to punish his family.

Katniss hates leaving the Ma’rouq women so vulnerable. Lark hadn’t much liked the idea either, but M had dismissed all of her impassioned arguments. They didn’t have the resources to protect the family beyond a week or two. After that, they would be on their own. She could hear the unspoken accusation in M’s voice as he imparted that joyous bit of news.

_You’re getting soft, sweetheart._

As the car pulls into the tunnels under MI6, Katniss shakes her mind free of the four Ma’rouq women and instead focuses on the task at hand. M is sending her somewhere to chase down leads and her mind needs to be attentive to details during the mission brief she is headed to. Once through building security, she makes her way upstairs to the conference room, collapsing into one of the plush chairs and looking around at the blank, wood-paneled walls. She’s tired. Hopefully, she will be able to catch some sleep on the flight to wherever it is she’s going this time.

“Don’t get up on my account,” M growls as he stalks into the room with his small entourage…with one notable absence. She scowls and shoves aside the inconvenient flicker of disappointment as M sits at the head of the table and waves his lackey towards the screens at the front of the room. “Get on with it, Bristel. We haven’t all day.”

“Yes, sir,” Bristel nods and quickly brings up a series of tiled images to the screen, tapping one to enlarge it. “Agent Jay, these are the shards you collected from the hand of Dr. Ahme Ma’rouq. At first look, they are nothing too special, other than how thin the glass is. We suspect that was to make it easier to crush. We were able to reconstruct the shape…” he taps the screen again and the pieces of glass fly together to make a capsule.

“Poison.” Katniss states.

“Yes,” Bristel confirms and continues her spiel. “Administered by crushing the glass in your hand rather than swallowing. Our lab is still having some difficulty isolating the toxin from Dr. Ma’rouq’s blood. But we were able to catch this.” Another tap of the screen magnifies the capsule and Katniss squints at what appears to be a grey logo or icon etched into the glass. An alphanumeric emblem: D13, in block letters with a series of chevrons beneath it. On closer inspection, Katniss sees that the chevrons are actually a bird’s wings.

“This,” Bristel explains, “is the logo for an American company, Defense Thirteen. It’s based in Saratoga, New York and chaired by this woman.”

A tap of the screen brings up a picture of a woman, grey eyes unyielding with few creases at the corners. Lips held in a tight line. Her grey hair, perfectly parted down the center, falls straight down to her shoulders without a single flyaway. The woman’s expression is that of a person who wouldn’t allow such a deviance in behavior, not even from her hair. Katniss has the inexplicable urge to snap to attention and salute this woman. But she also realizes that this must be the unknown American Ma’rouq spoke of.

“Her name is Alma Coin,” M explains. “For the next week and a half she will be at a trade convention in New York City as well as meeting with several delegates to the United Nations before an annual gala the UN is hosting. She’s got a lot of support in Washington, so as you can imagine, this will be a delicate operation. Which is why you are going to observe and observe only for now. No contact is to be made without approval, and you will be working with a CIA agent. Non-negotiable, 0012.”

He cuts off all her protests before she can even voice them. She huffs internally, keeping her face expressionless, and M examines her closely.

“You make me nervous when you don’t argue with me, sweetheart.”

“You complain when I don’t follow instructions and now you complain when I’m complying?” Katniss snorts and examines her nails a moment while Bristel shifts nervously at the front of the room. Damn, she needs to stop biting them down so far.

“We’ll call it compliance once you’re back on British soil and have done as I ordered,” he says before standing. “Effie has your travel documents. While you are gone, Q will continue to sift through Ma’rouq’s laptop and the binder you brought back. Lark and a handful of people from the linguistics department are helping translate, but it is slow work. See Q department for your equipment before you leave.”

M pauses, lifting one eyebrow and tilting his head to look down at her. The expression so reminds her of the many headmasters from her school days that Katniss has to fight back another scowl. “And try to stay alive, would you, Jay?”

Her lips quirk involuntarily at the phrase he uses to send her off on each of her missions. As much as she despises M, she can’t help but admire him also. Just a little.

As soon as M moves towards the door, Bristel shuts down the screen and hands a folder to Katniss. She and the others follow M from the room, leaving Katniss alone to peruse the file on Alma Coin and Defense Thirteen.

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

**_Sumatra, Indonesia: 4 Years, 5 Months Ago…_ **

It only takes ten minutes of winning for Katniss to establish herself as punto, the highest betting player. Another twenty minutes of her maintaining that lead before her feat snares the attention of Petrov Kray Reznicek and he joins the table, sweeping Katniss with an appraising look as he lowers himself in the vacant chair to her right. Her skin crawls under his perusal, and since flirtation has never really been her strong suit, she is grateful when Lark whispers in her ear.

“Cross your legs. Left over right. You won’t reveal anything you don’t want to and your legs look amazing in that dress.” Her mouth turns up in a smile as she does what he suggests. “Perfect.”

Without thinking of what she’s doing, she licks her lips, biting the bottom one briefly as his single whispered word warms her skin. She pictures the man in her line of sight with a different face. His dark hair lightens and the jawline draws taut, more angular. Kray returns the coy look and joins the game. After Katniss wins the next two hands, he reverts his attention to her.

“My dear, the odds appear to be in your favor tonight,” he says, his tone indicative of an attempt at seduction.

“I’m a lucky lady,” she murmurs, earning a deeper smile from the snake. Her stomach pitches in disgust and she fights to hide it. This man funds his lavish lifestyle on the lives of drugged up, kidnapped girls ages twelve to twenty-five, shipping them off to foreign lands to exist in a living hell.

“Watch it, Jay. Scowling at the man won’t earn you any favors.” She blinks and struggles to get things back under control. “Twirl your hair and finish your drink.”

She complies and wonders at this new twist. She’s the more senior agent, but Lark’s suggestions are invaluable right now. They’re working magnificently. Kray visibly softens when she flashes him a shy smile, keeping her eyes lowered and observing him through her lashes.

“Another libation for the lady,” he orders a man posted at his elbow. “You are drinking…a martini?”

“Yes,” Katniss says sweetly, turning a full smile on the servant first to regain her bearings. “Shaken not stirred, please.”

The servant bows and departs, returns another winning hand later to give Katniss her drink.

“Lady on Fire,” the dealer says happily while scooping the cards from the table and shuffling them back into the shoe while the other dealers collect losses and distribute winnings.

“Well, Lady on Fire. What do you say to raising the stakes?” Kray is so close, his words slither over her bare shoulder and she shudders at his proximity. Luckily, he takes it as a sign of interest and trails a finger over her upper arm. It takes all of Katniss’ will power not to slap his hand away or bite out a few choice insults.

“I would hate to make the other players uncomfortable with such a risk,” she says demurely, sipping delicately from her drink and attempting to bat her lashes at Kray.

“My dear, I don’t believe that is a problem. My guests will surely indulge me,” he looks around and she feigns surprise at the knowledge that he is the host at his own vacation home. Around the table, a few people murmur consent. One or two don’t appear to be too happy, but provide no protest as they place their chips on the table.

When the cards come up in his favor, Katniss tries to pout prettily.

“Banco,” the dealer announces, and Katniss watches him sweep away her chips.

“Lady on Fire,” Lark whispers. “Try not to burn out too fast, there.”

His words add to her annoyance and she knows she’s sold it when Kray smirks at her.

“Another round, my dear?”

“I’m afraid not,” she simpers, collecting what remains of her winnings. “I prefer to step out while I’m still on top. I believe I shall console myself at your bar.”

Kray stands from the table, collects his winnings as well and follows her away from the gambling. He places a hand on her bare arm and she manages not to flinch or jerk away from him. She’s not used to anyone touching her. Except for Lark.

“Lean towards him,” Lark whispers, as if on cue. “Pretend he’s going to tell you a fascinating secret. Maybe I’ll tell you one of mine, since you were so curious to know.”

Katniss swallows down bile and leans towards the foul man, her insides in turmoil over the effects of this man combatting with those of Lark’s voice in her ear. One is soothing the other highly distressing, but she has a game to play.

“My apologies for your loss, dear,” Kray murmurs conspiratorially. “However, there is no need to rub elbows with these peasants when you are clearly meant to be a queen.”

“That’s a pretty line. Does it usually work?” She tilts her head slightly in response to a brief crackle of static or suppressed laughter in her ear, but the movement must come off as coy since Kray’s face falls a little at her words. He leers at her after recovering, undressing her with his prying eyes.

“I see you are a woman far above such mundane things as words. You prefer to act.” When Katniss allows the assumption to stand, he steers her towards a nearby door. Triumph races through her as she can see her goal within grasp. “Come then. Retire with me to my private lounge for that consolation drink. We can see what sort of action awaits us there.”

When Katniss gives a nod of consent, he waves at the same servant from earlier who leaps into motion. Katniss and Kray are ensconced in his lounge a short time later and do not have to wait long before the servant enters with another martini for her and one for Kray. Accepting the drink, Katniss perches on the massive desk, facing the window and peering out at the pitch black night. Somewhere out there, Lark is positioned with a perfect vantage of this room and the one next door which she just left.

While Kray fires off instructions to the servant, stressing that they are not to be disturbed, Katniss methodically arranges the skirts of her dress to keep the holster on her right thigh hidden.

“Good,” Lark murmurs. “He’ll be so distracted by those legs he won’t notice what you’re up to. Put your glass up to your lips and pretend to take a drink if you can easily reach your gun.”

With a slight roll of her shoulders, she lifts her glass to her lips. Part of her is thrown by the constant presence of another person in her ear. She’s not used to doing this with a voice in her head. But another part of her is grateful for Lark’s presence. He’s already helped her maintain her charade, and if she’s honest with herself, knowing he’s out there with a sniper rifle trained on Kray, in case something goes wrong, shores up her confidence. She’d rather have Lark than no one at all.

The thought is disconcerting and his voice centers her once more.

“Alright. Jay,” he says softly, an unusual tremor in his voice. She doesn’t think she’s heard this tone before and forcibly contains any reaction to it. “Don’t forget the signal. I will shoot him if you need me to.”

Kray dismisses the servant and she tilts her head sideways and down. To the man in the room with her, now locking the door, she will appear flirtatious, like she’s waiting for him. But the motion is meant as an acknowledgment of Lark’s words. Flurries dance in her middle and she takes a few calming breaths while her target makes his way over to stand in front of her.

“Tell me, Lady on Fire,” Kray purrs, setting his glass beside her on the desk. “What brings you to Indonesia?”

“I was following a business lead,” she murmurs, struggling to maintain the enticing tone of her voice while Kray inserts himself between her knees. The slit of her dress falls wider, and she places her drink on the desk, right next to his, drawing his gaze away from her legs.

“And now you shall have to tell customs you were traveling for pleasure as well,” his lips touch her skin and her nerves revolt in disgust. Her left hand fumbles about as he braces his palms on the desk, and she knocks the drinks to the floor.

“Oh!” she exclaims softly, and Kray is distracted momentarily. Long enough for her to pull her gun. “Your lovely carpets,” she bemoans and as he straightens to resume molesting her neck, she grips his lapel in an iron fist and presses the barrel of her silencer to the soft spot under the hinge of his jaw. “So sorry about the stains.”

Finally, she snarls at him as his body goes rigid and he grunts. “A business lead, was it?”

“All those girls,” Katniss says to him. “And what was it for? A few lavish parties? A Rolls Royce customized to your exact specifications? A mistress on every continent, none of whom know that you’d sell their daughters into slavery faster than you’d look at them.”

He struggles against her grip and she jerks him closer, digs the round edge of the gun into his flesh.

“Jay,” Lark says in a warning tone that she ignores.

“Where is the man they call Brutus hiding?” Kray’s eyes reveal a flash of surprise and then harden while Lark tries to warn her of something again, but her target is talking so she blocks Lark out.

“You really think I’d hand over my business partner? You’re going to kill me anyways.”

“True,” Katniss sneers. “But it might have gained you some leniency in hell.”

She feels his arms tense beside her and Lark’s voice finally gets through.

“Hand in a drawer, Jay!”

With all her might, she pushes Kray away from her. He stumbles back, dazed, a pistol in his hand. Before he can regain his footing, Katniss takes aim and pops off three shots, hitting her mark with each one.

When Kray’s body drops to the floor, she immediately starts searching his person and his desk, ignoring the loud exhale and muttered curse over the earpiece. After tucking a thumb drive she finds in his jacket pocket, a calendar from the still open desk drawer from whence he’d pulled the stashed gun, and a photograph of a group of five men from his wall, including Brutus, into her purse, she slides the gun back into its spot on her garter and fluffs her skirt to disguise its presence once more.

“Ten minutes, Jay. Get out of there.”

Mussing her hair a little and taking a hand to her mouth to smear her lipstick, she turns to the window so he has a clear view of her. It’s disorienting, looking at her own reflection in the glass but knowing he’s somewhere out in the night, keeping an eye on her.

“How do I look, Lark?”

“Freshly tossed,” he answers in a low, urgent whisper. “Now get out of there.”

“Job’s done. You don’t have to cover me anymore,” she says as she crosses the room and douses the lights.

“I cover you until you reach your car,” he reminds her and she smiles as she leaves the room. She briefly meets the eyes of the servant from earlier. Giving him a moment to draw his conclusions, she pulls a mirror and a handkerchief from her purse, fixing her lipstick as she makes her way back through the party. By the time she reaches her car outside, her appearances have been set straight.

She slips into the car and Lark tells her he’s on the move. A wave of relief washes through her. They cut it a little close on time. Winding through the roads towards their rendezvous point, Katniss takes several deep breaths, schooling her thoughts away from the events that have just transpired.

Once she reaches the appointed location, she pulls over and pretends to check her rear tires. When she climbs back into the car, her eyes flick up to the rearview mirror and her body relaxes. In the darkness of the backseat, Lark is hidden amidst the black clothing and paint he’s wearing. All she can see are his blue eyes, but it’s enough just to know he’s there.

**◊◊◊◊◊◊◊**

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal thanks to abbythebear, for your sharp eyes and even sharper mind which catch all kinds of errors that make me want to smash my head in the keyboard (stop being right), to titania522 for naming almost every character and your editing prowess, and to peetabreadgirl for your fantastic beta skills as well as your enthusiasm for this story. I love you all and wouldn't have gotten this far without you.
> 
> A special thank you to loving-mellark, who made the glorious banner for this story. I am still stunned that you offered, my dear.
> 
> To the readers: I apologize for how long it took me to update. Originally, I thought I could pull this off in three chapters, but once I started typing this chapter, it became clear that was not going to happen. As the outline stands now (in it's fifth revision), the story will be 12 chapters long, but I may be adding to that depending on word count. 
> 
> For those who may not be familiar with the world of James Bond, a few of the supporting characters are known only by their single letter code names. M is the director in charge of the spies and I have cast Haymitch as M. Q is supposedly short for Quartermaster, and he is the person in charge of developing all the ridiculous gadgetry and technology they use. I've cast Beetee as Q (Wiress as well, you'll meet her soon). I hope that clears up any confusion. Thanks for reading!


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